Gambling with Love
by AttackOfTheWhovianDucks
Summary: Clary Fray is finally introduced to the elusive Jace Wayland, the leader of the Shadowhunter cult. When a strange friendship builds up between them, things start to go wrong. Jace is constantly covered in bruises, Clary is warned away from him, and her brother Jon is strictly against them. When their only comfort is within each other's forbidden contact, how will they survive?AU/AH


**Summary: _Clary Fray is finally introduced to the elusive Jace Wayland, the leader of the Shadowhunter cult. When a strange friendship builds up between them, things start to go wrong. Jace is constantly covered in bruises, Clary is constantly warned away from him, and it doesn't help that her brother Jon is strictly against them. When their only comfort is within each other's forbidden contact, how will they survive?_**

**Disclaimer: I own this plot but the one thing I really wanted- Jace- belongs to Cassie Clare! Ignore me whilst I sob pitifully...**

Sometimes you meet a person and feel like you've known all your life. An instant connection and you know you're going to spend the rest of your life with them- it's inevitable.

When I first met Jace Herondale, I didn't feel any of those things and if I had, it was quickly replaced by another feeling as soon as he spoke. After I crashed into him.

"I understand it's hard to see when all that red," he said, indicating my hair, "blinds you, but you could at least attempt to watch where you're going."

Knowing I was probably nearly as red as my hair, I averted my gaze, focusing instead on picking up the lyric book Simon Lewis (aka my best friend and member of WhovianWanderer) had begged me to bring over after he had forgotten to take it with him.

"And I know your big head probably gets in the way of your sight but you don't see me complaining, do you?" I retorted, glaring at him as I finally got back on my feet. He may have looked like an angel with the golden hair, eyes, and tan but his personality was definitely not golden. And I hated myself for admiring how the sun glinting off his hair made him seem like an ethereal being I had drawn come to life.

"There is a reason for my bigheadedness," Mr Nameless laughed, gesturing to himself.

"More like pigheadedness," I scoffed, "As much as I would love to stay talking to you, I have places to be. And even if I hadn't, I would rather be anywhere than here. I would love to say it's been a pleasure, but it really hasn't."

"It was a pleasure for me," he smirked unwavering. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, a flicker of...something, going through his eyes as he looked at me. f I didn't know any better, I would have said it was recognition, but I was almost certain I would've remembered if I had seen him. Despite our more than unsatisfactory start, I wanted to enquire whether he was okay, whether there was a reason behind the dark circles beneath his eyes, the slightly unkempt look of his jacket and sweatpants, as though he'd just thrown them on to get away from something, to run away from something.

But he had no right to make me feel like that when he was still potentially a stranger.

Huffing, I spun round, walking away. The air hung heavy with the promise of rain. Knowing my hair would frizz as soon as it started drizzling, I hurried forward but luck was clearly not on my side. As soon as I walked four steps away from Mr Nameless, it didn't start to drizzle, it poured. I contemplated holding Simon's rucksack over my head, but decide against it, knowing I would hate myself forever if his lyrics-no matter how silly they were- got ruined.

A red Mercedes convertible chugged along beside me, going intentionally slow. I stiffened as the memories of that night bombarded me starting from how well it had been going to how it had ended with my mum's tear-stricken face pleading with me not to tell anyone. And Jon having to be held back after he tried to escape to make him pay for what he had done. Without even realising, I was sprinting ahead at full speed, as though physical distance from the car could make me distance myself from the memories, the same way people boxed them up in their minds.

I stuttered to a halt as I heard my name being called and turned to see Mr Nameless running after himself just in time to not bang into me, he ran a hand through his hair: if Rumpelstiltskin existed, I would have said he had spun it gold. Wait...

"How do you know my name?" I asked suspiciously.

"It was on the front of your folder."

I snatched my folder containing all my drawings off him, pushing it swiftly but neatly into my rucksack, scared to open it to check if they were wet in front of this stranger. The pencil sketchings smudged easily but no one ever saw my drawings so I would just check later; it was like a diary for me.

"Did you look inside it?" I continued walking, trusting he would follow.

"Of course not." He sounded affronted that I would think that lowly of him. "Anyway, it didn't really hold much interest for me."

"It would if I drew naked women," I snorted.

"Somehow I don't think you do, Red." He appraised me and pulled one of my braids. "Nope, definitely not."

"Is there an actual need for you following me or are you just doing it to be an asshat?"

"Nope," he answered, whistling softly, "I'm actually being the total opposite of an 'asshat' and meeting my sister to pick her up from her flirting party."

"There's such a thing as flirting parties?" I asked dubiously.

"Apparently so."

My hair was officially ruined even before I had seen Kyle and I was sure I looked worse than a drowned kitten who had previously been ugly. The scent of pine and wet leaves enveloped me and memories of a younger, more innocent childhood came back, when mum had took us to the meadow my father had proposed to her in. An automatic smile crossed my face and Mr Asshat, as I had decided to call him, gazed down at me curiously. Waiting for his comment, I grew surprised when none came, but in the short time I had known him, I knew he was full of unpredictableness. Wow, that sentence didn't even make sense to myself which showed the expanse of the effect of his eyes on me.

After a few more moments of silence, I spoke again realising my earlier predicament could easily be answered. "I didn't get your name."

"Because I didn't tell you. I was always told to beware of strangers, especially ones who knocked you over," he grinned, ducking quickly away from me as though I would hit him. I was sorely tempted, yet as he had pointed out, we were still technically strangers.

"I'm Jace," he said shortly after.

"Just Jace?"

"Just Jace."

"Okay, so now you're being mysterious. I should have figured," I muttered, pulling the studio door open finally.

"Figured what? How gorgeous I am?"

It also figured that he only caught the last part of my sentence.

"Clary!" Simon shrieked, falling to my feet. "I could kiss you right now; you are seriously my saviour."

After noticing I had company, he pulled me aside. "Why the hell is Jace Wayland with you? I thought they didn't fraternize with just anyone," he hissed.

He was Jace Wayland? No wonder he was arrogant.

Oh no. I had just called the Jace Wayland a pigheaded asshat.

But looking over at his smirking figure now, I couldn't bring myself to regret it. He needed to be pulled down a peg or two.

**THIS STORY WILL BE CONTINUED FROM MY OTHER ACCOUNT, MY NAME IS CHERRYSLUSHLOVER**

** My profile URL is on this profile page! Thank you for taking the time to read and I apologise for any inconvenience! **


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